


Encounters Between a TW9 Landlady and a Bemustached Yank

by daughterofalderaan



Category: Ted Lasso (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29233395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofalderaan/pseuds/daughterofalderaan
Summary: Every pub has its assortment of characters—Ted Lasso falls outside of categorization, she thinks.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Encounters Between a TW9 Landlady and a Bemustached Yank

I.

Sometimes it couldn't be pinpointed how these things came to be. They just happened.

Mae watched as a group of lads stood around Ted in a circle, enclosing him, as he sang the entirety of _American Pie_. She had a sense of humor, but not when one of the worst songs ever written was being sung in its entirety. As he crooned on through the horrifically long number, the boys became increasingly excited until they were reacting like the bloody Beatles were performing. She had to ask a woman who was trying to order a drink to repeat herself twice. From the little she could hear over the yelling, Ted was getting more and more off-tune as the song progressed. 

For the final chorus, the whole rest of the pub joined in.

After the blasted song was complete, the crowd parted to let Ted through. He dragged his legs forward as he made his way to the bar and drummed a five-beat rhythm with the pads of his fingers on the counter. Mae put a hand on her hip and asked, "What led to that, now?"

His speech was wholly slurred. "Well, this one guy, who I'd never met before, but I'm looking forward to having a strong acquaintanceship with him, he came up to me and asked if when I first bite into an apple, I use my top set of teeth or my bottom teeth. And—"

A couple had started to queue behind Ted, and anyway, the tale was already seeming like it'd become too difficult to follow. She pointed to the board. "What are you having, Ted."

While she filled his glass, he moved his index fingers around like he was poking holes into the air and said, "The dots connect, Mae. Merember—Remember that." With a thanks, he took his drink and rejoined the crowd, who cheered at the riveting achievement of him having walked back across the room.

Mae tutted and served the next customers.

II.

He was remarkably silent, ever since he’d sat himself down. Not that a patron wasn’t free to be contemplative all by his lonesome, but this was _Ted._ When he walked in with no bounce to his step and hit her with an all-too measured “Hi, Mae,” she was instantly clued into his mood. As she was busy tending to others, she opted for a quick nod on her part, for the moment.

After ordering dinner and poking at it with his cutlery, he was utterly immobile. Even when the pub reached the height of activity for the night, he didn’t insert himself into conversation or seem to be aware of his surroundings.

When she got around to checking in on him, it was nearly time to announce closing. Half a dozen others were huddled around the table he was at, exhaling out their raucous banter. He looked as if he was merely letting the space, sitting still with his hands clasped together.

She gestured at the group, who were too drunk to notice. “It’s good they’re here to keep up the net mood of this section.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he said before dropping eye contact. 

Mae was unnerved by how far out from his regular self he was that night.

Speaking softer this time, she said, “What’s wrong, Ted?”

He took a second before looking back up at her. “It’s not really my place to talk about it.”

She asked him what her da’ used to ask her when she was upset and wouldn’t talk about it. “Internal or external?” 

“The second one.”

“Is it your place to mope around about whatever it is that's happened?”

After thinking for a moment, he said, “I guess—no, can’t really say it is.”

“Go home, Ted.”

“Yeah. Guess I oughta.”

“Get some sleep. Doctor alleges it’s good for you.”

“Thanks, Mae.”

She nodded.

He pushed off from his knees to get up and slung his rucksack over one shoulder. 

She checked the clock. It was time for the last call; she made her way over to the bell. 

III.

Middle-aged Welsh hooligans had been occupying the realm of the dartboard for most of the night. They were award-winning, in the wrong ways. As a group, they were the worst dart players she’d ever witnessed. Their first round of alcohol had the opposite effect on them than it should’ve—their hands became unsteady from trying to stifle their never-ending raucous laughter. 

At least they were having fun.

As she walked by, one of them flagged her down and asked, “Is it true that the Richmond manager scared that former owner out of this place? With darts?

“Yes,” she said.

“And,” he lifted his hand, dart between his fingers like he was going to use it to color in a line drawing, “was this the one he used to hit the bullseye?”

How in the hell would she know? Well, there was no harm in saying—

“It is.”

“This is the one!” he called out to his friends. “Ted Lasso nailed the old man into his coffin with this fine specimen right here!”

Ted’s head turned. She saw him stand up and dust his hands on his trousers despite not having ordered any food.

“Playing darts, fellas?” he asked.

Recognizing him, most of the group gaped at him, while one let out a laugh that sounded like Father bloody Christmas.

The head honcho who had inquired about the dart was the first to break his silence. “No way! You’re a deity, man.”

It always amused her, the way newcomers received Ted. 

Ted chatted with them politely for a minute, and when he returned to his table, she told him: “You’re becoming an urban legend ‘round this town, Ted.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Not sure this was the way I wanted to share something in common with Sir Paul McCartney.”

“Take the neutrals as they come, won’t you?”

“Hm. Yeah. You know what, I like that! You won’t mind if I do some theft and use that line with the team?”

She clapped him on the back and got back to work.

It was good for word-of-mouth anyway, having PL coaches as regulars.

IV.

The last of the customers had been shooed out, and Mae was setting stools on tables. She was spent—more than ready to kick her feet up and be stationary for the rest of the night. 

The bell tinkered. _Damn_ , she thought, chastising herself for not locking the door. Mae turned towards the victim, ready to use her _get the hell out of here_ voice, only to find that it was Ted who had scuttled in. She tilted her head at him.

“I know, I know,” he said, putting his hands up in a surrendering motion. “Whichever liquid substance that is closest for you to reach, could I please have some of that to go? I’ll owe you! And I swear on my big toe—on both my big toes that I’ll bring the glass back tomorrow.” He looked towards the door and back again quickly as if there was someone outside waiting for him.

“You want to owe me? Beat Fulham on Saturday. You want _takeaway_?” She pointed directly at the clock. “McDonald’s is still open.”

“Problem is Ronald won’t give me anything with alcohol in it. Not even when I make this face at him.” He was actually _pouting_ at her.

Making direct eye contact, she lifted a large glass boot from behind the counter let it thud onto the table. “So you don’t have to go through the trouble of cleaning spilled drink from your living room floor,” she said.

“You’re a star, Mae,” he said as she filled up the boot with beer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Before she could ring him up, he reached into his pocket, dumped some money onto the counter, and headed for the door.

In the doorway, he raised the boot into into the air as a cheers and, despite her crisis management efforts, nearly managed to spill some beer. “Thanks a million.”

She brushed him off with a flick of her wrist, and he exited, pushing the door open with his foot. 

When she glanced down and saw how much money he had parted with, her demeanor altered instantly.

Hurrying to the door, she pushed it half open and stuck her head in the direction of the pedestrian pathway. 

“Keep the boot, Ted,” she called. 

He kept walking but put his hand up in the air in acknowledgment.

The next morning, he wordlessly entered the pub, thrust the boot into her hands, gifted her a broad grin, and left.

**Author's Note:**

> howdy find me on [tumblr](https://freetobegrace.tumblr.com/) yee haw


End file.
